


ananas symphonie | spike spiegel

by nihilisten



Series: my reader inserts [42]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisten/pseuds/nihilisten
Summary: Spike offers you a solution to all problems.[spike spiegel/reader]
Relationships: Spike Spiegel/Reader
Series: my reader inserts [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1048064
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	ananas symphonie | spike spiegel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad I finally watched Cowboy Bebop. It was the exact type of depressing weirdness that I love to write about.  
> Title comes from a Kraftwerk song which I imagine could be a real episode title.

Three curious faces appeared at the door as you returned to the Bebop.

Ever since you joined this peculiar team, you had grown used to the unspoken rules of the ship. Not that there were many: fend for yourself, stealing is fine as long as you don’t get caught, blasting retro synthpop gets people to do what you want, and so on. But the ultimate rule was not asking personal questions. Just in case someone had a tad too many skeletons in the closet to handle.

That didn’t stop the rest of the crew – save for Ed, maybe, who you vaguely noticed napping on the floor accompanied by Ein – from stealing curious glances at your current predicament.

You were a walking disaster, misery and anguish oozing from every pore of your existence. Stiff as a stick, not bothering to even look at any of your comrades, let alone utter a word of explanation to them, you walked inside the living room and tossed your bag to the side; it slumped somewhere in the corner and you did the same on the sofa in the middle of the room.

Where you left your comrades there was an exchange of hushed whispers.

“What’s up with her?” must be Jet.

“Did her bounty escape or something?” now that sounded like Spike.

“Just leave her, it’s not like it’s our business.”

Judging by Faye’s indifferent voice and the sound of footsteps that followed immediately afterwards, she wasn’t speaking out of consideration. Still, the other two must have reached the same conclusion as she did, because soon enough two other pairs of footsteps joined only to fade away seconds after, and the living room fell silent again.

You remained motionless on the sofa, empty eyes fixed on the wall. It was fine. They could gossip and peek all they wanted, but the most important rule was never to be broken. You, on the other hand, would stay like this for the time being, then return to your everyday life like nothing had happened. Pain couldn’t be erased, only dulled, and it certainly couldn’t be shared – that’s how things were, not only for you, but for them, and for every single living person, probably.

…The sound of footsteps reappeared in the passage outside the living room.

You didn’t turn your head to look, thinking one of your mates must have forgotten something. The footsteps stopped at the door (to consider the next move? Or to analyse your position?) and resumed after a prolonged silence, nearing close to you this time. Because you still wouldn’t budge, whoever it was had to step in your field of vision for you to actually look at them.

Spike was holding a bottle of booze.

“Figured you might need some.”

You eyed him suspiciously, then glanced at the bottle in his hand. Spike was infamous for having a supply of all kinds of questionable alcohol; not many friends could boast the achievement of being able to stand after having a drink with him, let alone enemies. This, however, wasn’t even the biggest problem today.

“What the hell, Spike. You’re just looking for an excuse to drink yourself, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, his sheepish expression confirming your accusation. “What difference does it make? You should thank me for offering to be your drinking buddy.”

“I don’t need a buddy.”

“Drinking alone is what drunkards do,” concluded Spike, lips forming a cheeky smile that indicated he wouldn’t take no for an answer. His bottle drew uncomfortably closer to your face. “So? Are you taking it or not?”

A groan escaped your throat.

“Do the honours.”

With your shoulders slumped, staring at the floor, you could hear Spike bring out two glasses and put them on the table with a quiet clink. What followed afterwards was the sound of pouring the alcohol and a strong smell. You winced despite yourself, but said nothing. Don’t they say go big or go home?

When you raised your gaze, Spike was already holding one of the glasses. Seeing your slight hesitation, he gave an encouraging smile. A second passed, two, three, until you gave up, lifting your own glass with a sigh.

“Well then, cheers.”

Though it was a large glass filled almost to the brim, you gulped its contents all at once. The alcohol was strong, causing heat to trickle down your throat and tears to well up in your eyes. But you didn’t care. Not looking at Spike, you shoved your glass at him.

“One more.”

In the next ten minutes Spike had the dubious honour of witnessing you downing glass after glass after glass while he still sipped his first one; his face became more and more dumbfounded as your eyes grew more and more watery. Soon you couldn’t even see your own shaking palm, nor notice the numbness that had started kicking in.

“More,” you insisted, the glass unstable in your grip.

“Hey, you alright?” Spike furrowed his brows, hesitating whether to continue pouring. “I don’t think you should—”

“Like hell I am alright. Well, what are you waiting for?” You urged, slurring your words. “Wasn’t this your idea?”

But he didn’t take the bait. His palm reached for your glass to take it away.

“I think you’ve had enough, okay.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Spike Spiegel,” you tried to resist, but your blurry vision and fuzzy mind weren’t a tough opponent for Spike. You lost balance, falling helplessly on the backrest of the sofa and letting go of the glass, which Spike had managed to catch just in time before it inevitably shattered on the floor. Your head was spinning, your ears were ringing. Your shoulders shook in an ugly sob as you hid your face in your palms. “Shit, I fucking hate this. This… this… everything.”

He didn’t ask what ‘everything’ was. He didn’t ask anything. He just sat there in silence, save for the click of a lighter, followed by a faint string of smoke.

“You know what that bastard did to me?” you continued, not caring if Spike even listened to you. It might have been better if he didn’t. “He fucking shot himself, but not before telling me that all of this ain’t worth shit.”

“Aren’t you just mad your bounty slipped away?” commented Spike matter-of-factly, drawing on his cigarette.

“Hell, I don’t care about no bloody bounty anymore. I just can’t stand that… that a filthy criminal could see through me so easily.” Tears left a wet trail on your cheeks, spilling on your shirt and trousers. “He told me that in the end, we’re all lying to ourselves. Pretending to be busy, wearing masks, running in circles. But it’s not enough to fill the void. And I fucking hate the fact that he was right…” Your pleading, teary eyes met Spike’s unreadable ones. “Why would he say such horrible things so easily? What did he have that I don’t? How is that fair? Tell me, Spike? Why?”

Even through stinging tears, you could see Spike’s face freeze, but you weren’t sober enough to figure out why. His lips parted slightly as if to give you an answer – but before he could even utter a word, the world went black.

Spike sighed, rubbing his temple with the free hand. Your body, passed out in his arms, went limp. “Aren’t I just way too nice?”

* * *

The next day, you woke up with a pounding headache and an overwhelming desire to murder.

“Ow! FUCK!” Your voice echoed in every nook and cranny of the Bebop like a harbinger of doom. “Spike! What the hell did you make me drink?!”

In the same moment, much to Jet’s confusion, a head of messy hair popped up at the bridge.

“Jet, I’m leaving for a bit.”

“Huh?! You’re going to leave me at that crazy woman’s mercy?”

But Spike was already gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel so illiterate forgive me if this is shit lol


End file.
